


names

by notenoughred



Category: MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Anywhere, Ever - Freeform, Humanstuck, M/M, doesn't go into too much detail though, idk - Freeform, im not the greatest at sleuth n all that but, mentions of a kidnap, mostly just pi worrying and ps worrying about his friend, probably sfw, pspi, there is no, theres one page on here i thinm, very losely human anyway??? idk, where is it, which is unfair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 19:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughred/pseuds/notenoughred
Summary: PI went missing for a week and PS finds him in a closet.





	names

**Author's Note:**

> not sure where I was going here. not sure if this should be continued or not??

You’re not good at being an inspector.   
You’re not good at being a private investigator either.   
And at being a good friend? You’re the worst.   
  
You’ve,,made a lot of mistakes recently.  And you haven’t let them leave your mind either; you’ve been revising them, replaying out the scenes in your head until your imagination made them so _vivid_ and clear that it sometimes you’d shut your eyes and whimper, believing you were still there.  You inspected the memories in detail, pulled the images apart and hyperfocused on the clues you thought you ignored, then imagined and enlargened them with such clarity that it seemed that only an  _idiot_ would have missed them. Like how you _knew_ there had to be at least something on lookout during a heist ( _this one was_ **_planned_ ** _months, of course they had one),_ that uneasy feeling that grew in your stomach that only churned when it was being watched, or the way that cigarette smoke smelled _especially_ strong for a vacant wall. But it was too late to do anything by that stage.   
  
You blamed the entire event on yourself, and after they finally let you go, after they’d gotten what was important to them, all you could do was mutter a wan ‘thank-you,’ so small and quiet you almost sounded appreciative towards it. As if you had been politely willing the entire time and maybe you were and you were just unloyal even though you didn’t really want to be but maybe you did and did the wrong thing without even trying to stick up for yourself or your friends or _anyone and why did you DO this? Why would you_ tell ?  The only person in Team Sleuth that didn’t have it hidden was Ace, of account for his poor imagination stat, so at least the additional guilt from a third didn’t have to be burned into that,,, growing list of regrets you had.   
  
You wanted to stop thinking about this.   
  
You had coping methods. The world was an unfriendly, sobering place filled with too many problems and too many faces, so to shrink your world to as small and quiet as possible always helped.  To escape from it was even better. That’s why you were huddled up with a bottle in the corner of your closet, knees hugged up under your chin and the door shut closed, the only reminder of the outside world shown by that brightened off-white slit where the two closet doors met.   


You dug a nail into one of your legs harshly and tried (and failed) to keep in a sob, managing to be a bit more successful by pursing that flat bottle of moonshine to your lips, and forcing whatever old liquid was in it down your throat. You,, didn’t have much of a clue how long this was lying in here for, but judging by the terribly bitter and dusty film it coated your tongue with, and the bug, it was well over two months.   
You suddenly wish you were drinking something heavier.     
  
You were pulled from your thoughts by a noise that made your drink catch in your throat.   
It was a jingle, and then a creak, and then echoing footfall and you. were. starting .to. _panic_ because _oh no Oh_ **_Dear_ ** _they have their own keys which meant that he had to get a new lock and he really really hoped it wasn’t the Midnight Crew again because they’d only just let him_ **_go_ ** _and he really, really didn’t want a re-run of what happened last time, but it didn’t sound like them, but it could be one of them because he didn’t trust his intelligence anymore and even if it isn’t they’d probably still be disappointed in what he did and to stay in here and not greeting a guest is also_ **_rude_ ** _and now you were rude as well as awful and guilty and-._

 

You found yourself trying to hold your breath and spluttering that drink down, slinking as far into that closet as possible, your hand still clasped around the bottle as if it were your last possession on earth.  Crumpled clothes, despite your weight, barely did anything for hiding someone as tall as you were, but you tried it anyway out of a vague hope. They all went on you in a messy heap, and you shut your eyes like you could imagine this away.  
  
“Pickle? Izzat really you?”

 

It was Sleuth, holding the door to the closet open with a look of honest surprise to his face. You only let out a whine,  and a ‘hhhhh’ noise, because now the reality of your guilt was standing _right in front of you._   
But he didn’t leave you very long to mope.   
  
Because before you could react any further, his arms were right around you.   
  
You didn’t squirm away (because you couldn’t , and you,,., did still miss him while you were gone), but you didn’t hug him back.  You just whined and let yourself slump (against him), looking away.   
  
“Hey, c’mon, ‘ve been lookin’ for ya for a whole week.   
Ain’t ya gonna at least tell me how you got outta there?   
...f’ Slick hurt ya m’ gonna give m’ som’a that good old-fashioned diplomacy,” There was a noticeable tone of anger by the way that hug tightened.   
  
Ah. So he figured it out then.   
  
“Mnnn...   
Mmm-more like, ah, more like Droog did most of it.   
But they were....all. i-involved.”

  
Even though this was a serious situation, Sleuth was still trying to put on some pose to show that he was serious about being angry about this, moving his fedora and practising moving  with his facial features, which you thought was highly inappropriate and even rude at a time like this but you decided not to say anything about it.   
You did give him an odd ogle though, but stared off until Sleuth was six sentences into his highly fabricated story about how he tried to find you, involving several elves and an underground gang you’re pretty sure he just made up. He didn't get up to the part where he was going to describe his plan on how he’d get back at Slick for this, so he pouted.   
  
 “....   
I’m.  I-I’m ssorry.”   
  
“S’all right Pickle, this ain’t your fau-”   
  
“No, nnno, no no I am. It is I’m. I’m _sorry_ .   
I- , mnnnnnnn   
Sleuth..”   
  
You paused, Sleuth for once giving you the time to say it.   
_“Ididsomething_ .”   
  
This raised an eyebrow of concern, which also raised an excuse to draw on some of his Pulchritude in order to delve deeper. Pickle suddenly wished his friend wasn’t as attractive, because he felt him opening up.   
  
“I.

Hhhhh  
Normally I could,, ff-forgive myself for. Th-things.” The eyebrow raise of suspicion turned into an askance one.

You... rarely forgave yourself for many things, and this was far too strong of a word, but it was already said.

 

“I. I-I-I-, I ttttt-”  
  
“Pickle, what happened t’ your nose?”   
  
Sleuth, please....   
  
“It got. I-I-it got hit.” You subconsciously brought up a hand to touch it. The bandage felt old and hard.   
  
He nodded and then narrowed his eyes, thinking he was onto something.   
“By Droog, ain’t it?”   
  
You nod.   
  
“Y’ know they didn’t even go in th’ buildin’ we were in. Ace punched a door or two down tryn’a find ‘em, but they ain’t _there._ Had t’ have somethin’ t’ do with gettin’ you with them.”   
  
You’re surprised that he managed to,, sleuth as much as he did, but he’s still a sleuth. It must have been on his mind the whole time you went missing. That.. familiar pang of guilt forced it’s way up as he looked at you for an answer.   
  
“I. o-only told the, th-the first,” Your voice started to quieten.   
  
“Th ’ firsta _what?_ ”  He’s still trying to be kind to his friend, but worry made his words   
  
You really should have been polite enough to tell him what happened immediately. You shouldn’t have waited. You want to do the right thing and help people but things don’t always go the way you want it.   
  
“Our names.”   


* * *

  


  
  
It took a while for the words to sink in. In Midnight City, names were hidden for a reason; it was the _norm_ to hide behind some fluky alternative, and anyway, you thought yours was cool. People kept to their own business to themselves, and real names made you easier to look up, easier to be caught, by the crook or the innocent fella who got the wrong kind of attention.

 

You tried to laugh it off, gave him a playful punch (a very light one, you knew he bruised easily?) as if this were just some big joke he told to try and lighten the mood, but the way he looked at you said otherwise. His eyes were drooped and miserable and bagged down heavily from a lack of sleep,  and the way he clung so tight when he was drinking from that bottle, and just. That variety of bandages on him managed to bring up a heavy feeling of pity towards him. A sudden feeling of pity, that had probably been growing since you started looking for him, and had he _always_ had such long eyelashes?   
Your hand had moved to his cheek.            

 

Whoa! Hey, what? Snap back into it Sleuth. He hasn’t been gone for that long.   
You shook your head comically, then pretended there was a bug on his face. PI expectantly apologised for it, and then you felt bad.   
But there are other things at stake! What is it with you and distractions. The Crew had. Names!!!! This is serious.   
  
“S’not your fault Pickle, ain’t like they’re gonna get much on us anyway with jus’ a first name,” You didn’t believe completely in the latter of what you were saying, but you were showing confidence.   
  
Pickle wanted badly to cut him off, but he already felt guilty and impolite than to try and cut you off again. He looked like he was keeping it inside, his lip being chewed on and his nails being chewed on which probably had been the first thing he had really eaten in a while.   
  
“We jus’ gotta get deep enough on ‘em t’ get a name back,”   
  
This. garnered a more nervous reaction from the inspector, and he waved his hands out in front of him, shaking his head at the same time.   
  
“NNnno, no, n-no we have to. St-stay away from this.   
I know they’re. Gg-going to blackmail us with it,,,sss-somehow.

Check. Ch-Check our old re-records..   
And...”   
  
“Y sure they’re gonna follow th’ lead when they get t’ ...y’ know.” Your voice lowered and your eyes meandered, because you knew this was a sensitive topic for him.

  
  
Pickle had been in a war once. Or Piplin did, because that’s what the records would say. He never...explained much about it, but you were nosey and a sleuth and he got drunk often enough, so you had some idea for it. A sniper, you had guessed by how good he was at the rifle. Something must have happened during it, but you never brought it up with him and he never wanted to bring it up with you, so it remained unanswered.   
  
He shrugged, then picked at some of dead skin where he’d been biting.   
  
“...Tthhey, th-they might.”   
  
He didn’t seem to want to talk any longer, and you had nothing else to do but to plan out some..counter plan with him to get back on the Crew when he was in a better mood.  You felt pity for him, and it wasn’t going away. You knew him better than to think that giving away that was _easy_ for him. You purposely closed the distance, took his bitten hand in your own and held it until you could feel some of him calm down, and then it’s like you weren’t thinking and your body was working against you, because the moment he took the other hand, you pulled him into a kiss. 


End file.
